34. After #3
He couldn’t have assembled the entire case in the time since the fire.
He must have been holding most of it in reserve.
Trent’s identity. The location of the grave.
The connection to the narcotics investigation.
The fire gave him everything else he needed: Ashford House open to investigators, the cornfield stripped bare, my father injured, and enough chaos to take the dagger from my bedroom and place it beside the body before anyone reached the field.
Now, before we can determine what happened to Laurel or who attacked us, I’m facing a murder charge.
Jack doesn’t need to defeat me inside The Order if he can hand me to the government instead. He knows what I’ve done to protect Ashford House and how little any explanation will matter once the evidence reaches the outside world.
An arrest separates me from Laurel, weakens the Ashford line, and destroys the presidential future The Order built around me. Every outcome benefits Jack. Every loss of Ashford power creates more room for Jackson.
I can’t prove he arranged this, not yet, but this timing isn’t a coincidence.
“Stand and turn around,” Harris orders.
His hand hovers near his weapon. Bowey’s attention shifts briefly toward Thomson, waiting to see whether he’ll interfere.
“My Bonded is missing,” I say without moving.
The word earns the blank expression I expected. To these men, Bonded means nothing, and explaining it would give them another reason to question my judgment.
“My girlfriend,” I correct. “Laurel Turner and a group of women disappeared during the fire.”
“You can provide that information after you’ve been processed,” Bowey says.
“She’s been missing since the fire. Every hour matters.”
“The Ashport Police Department is handling any missing-person cases.” He holds up the handcuffs like he’s presenting them to me.
“They don’t understand what they’re investigating.”
“Do you?”
Not yet.
I know Silas wanted Laurel alive. Jack wanted her controlled.
Sam promised to stop the sealing and left the hall minutes before the fire began.
Nearly half the missing women are Sisters from our year.
Most of all, I know Sisters don’t abandon one another unless someone gives them a reason or forces them.
There’s a pattern in those facts. I know it even if I can’t see it yet.
Harris shifts his coat aside so I see the silver flash of his gun. Fighting would gain me less than a minute. It would leave Thomson explaining why two federal agents were injured in my hospital room and give them reason to isolate me from everyone capable of searching for Laurel.
Before Laurel, I would have welcomed the violence.
Now every decision has to be measured against whether it brings me closer to her or creates another delay.
I lift my hands.
Bowey takes my left wrist. The cuff closes directly below the wound Laurel and I made together. Metal presses into swollen skin, sending pain through my palm and radiating up my arm.
Another painful reminder of the promise I made and how quickly I failed to live up to it.
“Thomson,” I say while Bowey pulls my arms behind my back and secures the second cuff.
The position brings back Laurel fastening the restraints at Sinners. My arms were behind me then too, but those bonds were chosen, intimate, and temporary.
These cuffs are designed to keep me from reaching her.
“Call Father and our attorneys,” I say. “No one speaks to law enforcement until counsel arrives.”
Thomson nods. The fear and shock leave his face, replaced by the fierce intelligence I’ve trusted since we were boys.
“Get the names of every missing Sister and compare their phone records. Pull footage from every camera within twenty miles of Ashford House, including private security systems and traffic cameras. Find out whether any other electronics failed near the eastern tunnel when Laurel’s tracker stopped transmitting. ”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Work on recovering the tracker feed. Check rentals, especially large vans or buses. If the Sisters left together, someone arranged transportation before the ceremony.”
Bowey turns me toward the door.
Thomson reaches for his phone. “Carrson.”
I look back.
“We’ll find her.”
“Damn right we will,” I answer, my fingers curling behind my back.
The agents lead me into the hallway. Nurses stop behind the desk to watch while the officers outside fall into position around us. Harris stays close to my right side, monitoring my hands, while Bowey walks half a step ahead and controls our direction.
The handcuffs prevent me from returning to the tunnel, confronting Jack, or putting a knife against Silas Creed’s throat until he tells me everything he knows.
They don’t prevent Thomson from searching, my father from applying pressure, or our attorneys from dismantling whatever case the FBI has built around me.
The elevator doors open, and they lead me inside.
Laurel is missing because I let go of her hand when she told me to leave. I will carry that choice for the rest of my life, but I will not make it again. Duty, my father, The Order, the future they planned for me. None of it comes before her now.
The promise is written into my palm, and I will use every breath the fire failed to take from me to bring her home.
They made one mistake when they took her from me.
They left me alive.